dontravis.com blog post #592
Jorge sounds intriguing, doesn’t he? Will he
hurt or help in pursuing the solving of the secret behind Miss Emmalee’s slight
frown? Perhaps we’ll find out in this installment of the story.
****
PORTRAIT OF MISS EMMALEE
Man, I’m having trouble getting this story
out. I keep getting side-tracked, but it’s things that you ought to know about
me. Like, while I’m definitely gay—lots better than queer, isn’t it—I don’t
advertise the fact. Right or wrong, I stay firmly in the closet. That said,
there are some things I won’t do to protect my reputation. I have lots of women
friends, but not one of them is a lover or a beard. They’re friends—some of
them good friends—and acquaintances, but I don’t think any of them harbor the
misconception I’m going to up and fall in love with her someday.
That is not the
case with Jorge. I don’t believe he’s gay. Bi, maybe, but his eyes go to
dancing when a pretty girl comes around. Given his appearance, they all want to
mother him, and do so up until the time they find him doing what he does so
well. Someday, I’ll lose him to a gal, and I’ll be sad when it happens. But I
won’t try to stop it, nor will it endanger his job at the shop. He’s a damned
good auto body man. Of course, he’s a damned good lover too, but every man has
the right to determine his own future.
****
With some unaccustomed spare
time on my hands, I renewed my interest in Miss Emmalee Vanderport. Like
everyone in town, I knew about the Vanderport family from the old Colonel James
Wilson Vanderport having a hand at founding our town, although he didn’t favor
it with the Vanderport name, something he did with every other thing he
touched. We ended up being named Sidney. Not a terribly distinguished name, but
okay, I guess. Sidney, Oklahoma had a certain ring to it… at least to me.
Anyway, the old Colonel opened
a logging mill alongside a railroad track, and then history took over. We’d
grown from simply a sawmill to a lumbering and farming town in our corner of
the state. And along the way, the Vanderports had become rich. Filthy rich, my
dear old dad used to say with a sneer. He seemed to have a bone to pick with
our town’s foremost family but would never say what it was.
When the Colonel died, the town
almost came to a full stop with grief. Maybe that’s not a good word.
Trepidation may be more apt. What would happen with the demise of Sidney’s
rock… Colonel James Nelson Vanderport. Nothing, turned out to be the answer.
Elder son Wilson James Vanderport took over the business and the town survived.
He didn’t. James Nelson Vanderport died a few years after his father, and
Charles Sidney Vanderport, the second son, picked up the yoke and handled
things very well.
Charles Sidney? Maybe
the old man did name the town after the family. The long and the short of it
is, the Vanderports had been around as long as Sidney, Oklahoma had been
around, and Miss Emmalee was the torchbearer for the distaff side of the
family. And she had done a fine job of it, as well. Of course, plebians like me
always wondered why she hadn’t married and raised a houseful of children. My
sainted mother had always equated success for females as marrying well and
turning out a brood of acceptable tots. Why hadn’t she married? She’d been a
beauty up until the day she died two months ago.
****
My curiosity led me to the
town’s newspaper. I’d have said the newspaper’s morgue, except that pretty well
described the entirety of our Sidney Weekly Journal. Miz Myrtle Bailey, who’d
been reporter, editor, printer, and janitor of the Journal ever since I could
recall, didn’t have copies of the newspaper on modern things like computers or
even microfiche, but she did have a printed copy of every edition. With nothing
to guide me to specific articles, I started wading through them one by one.
Some member of the Vanderport family appeared in virtually every paper. Far
from being bored, I found myself fascinated at the unfolding saga of this proud
family.
The old Colonel had a past. The
title had been honestly earned in Havana during the Spanish and American War.
He was nearly cashiered when he fought a duel with one of his fellow officers
over some young woman, but his foe survived his wound, and the Colonel survived
his commission. Of course, he’d married a very proper Boston debutante and
settled down to logging in his native Kentucky. What drew him to Oklahoma, I
could never discern.
His two sons were drags, so far
as being newsworthy was concerned. The only attention they received was as
captains of industry—or what served as captains of industry in our little town.
They grew up, married, and in turn, ran the mill before dying unspectacular
deaths. None of their progeny was interested in carrying on the family
business, so when the younger son, Charles Sidney died about eight years ago, a
national corporation acquired the large mill and the remaining Vanderpark kin
took the money and ran. All except Miss Emmalee. She stayed on and carried the
family name forward in little Sidney.
She was a staple in the
Journal, especially after the remainder of the family vamoosed. The articles
about her sponsoring this charity or opening this ball—balls in Sidney,
Oklahoma? More likely dances—or donating to that cause. That kind of thing.
Nonetheless, I began to see her as a woman in her own right. I found something
admirable about the gentle way she gave time and money to shaping and molding
the young people in our town. Heck, I’d been the beneficiary of some of that
largess without realizing it until I saw photos of Mom and myself with her at
some camp for youth she’d sponsored. I also learned I’d gained my interest and
expertise at the shop she’d built for the local school.
Then she disappeared from the
paper’s pages. When questioned, Miz Baily said she’d taken a world cruise.
Roamed all over the world for almost a year and a half. Skipping a bunch of
issues, I located Miss Emmalee’s triumphant return to the place of her birth.
The faded photographs in the paper’s yellowing copies seemed to show an older,
more mature woman. But it was undoubtedly Miss Emmalee waving to the
photographer or in deep discussion with a town dignitary or two.
****
My searches at the Journal did
nothing but fan the flames of my developing obsession with Miss Emmalee. Some of
the facts I’d uncovered stirred up memories. Connections, I guess you’d say.
The Vanderports had played a bigger role in our family history than I’d
realized. Some of the old photos kicked off vague memories of Miss Emmalee
visiting our home. Chatting with Mom or bringing little presents. Always with
mom, not when Dad was home. I could vaguely remember sitting on her lap a time
or two when I was just a little kid.
A thought hit me in the head so
hard, I about fell off my chair. Visiting with Mom. Never with Dad. My thoughts
slid to Jorge. It couldn’t be. My mom and Miss Emmalee? Was it possible? But if
so, and my dad knew, it explained a lot about his reaction when I confessed to
being gay. That thought set me back on my haunches. Did they even have lesbians
back in those days? I laughed aloud at my stupidity. Of course, they did. Human
beings were human beings even back then with all their strengths and faults
firmly in place. Jeez!
****
I don’t think this is going the way Richie thought it
would. Has he discovered a liaison between his mother and Miss Emmalee? It
would explain his father’s attitude, wouldn’t it? And maybe lend a little
credence to Richie’s own leanings.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3
Don
No comments:
Post a Comment